User blog comment:Biggren/The Mice of Wintor/@comment-3135907-20120515202523/@comment-25220117-20121031163609

Watching the spectacle from a distance among the bushes, Trokkin Redback drew his crossbow from the numerous pouches and pockets sewn into his vest, notching it with a small bolt and taking aim, a wide grin developing upon his features. This was by far much safer than taking F-fa-...whatever his name is head on with guards nearby, and he could simply gather the mouse&apos;s garments after the main skirmish is complete. He relished the neat clip of the crossbow going off, its bolt heading for the fieldmouse Fary&apos;s shoulderblades. Bye, bye, mousey